


A Little of What You Fancy

by ClydeThistles



Series: Victorian Music Hall AU - Yennaia [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Service Top Yennefer, Tipping the Velvet vibes, Yennaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Sequel to 'The Songbird's Tongue Is Sweet'.Tissaia indulges in a bit of what she fancies, Yennefer is all to happy to give it to her.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Victorian Music Hall AU - Yennaia [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905364
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	A Little of What You Fancy

Tissaia is grateful the door is behind her and that Yennefer is pressed up against her front because her legs have turned to gelatine. Yennefer’s tongue is hot and slick, twisting and gliding against her own in ways Tissaia has never dreamt of even in her wildest imaginings. Her body has taken on a mind of its own, her hips grinding in search of friction, bosom straining against its corset to be touched, her hands clutching at Yennefer. And the sounds coming from her are unfamiliar, as though a stranger had taken up residence in her voice-box. A wanton, desperate stranger with vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. Yennefer does not seem to mind though. In fact, she smiles against Tissaia’s mouth humming her approval at the profanity. And when Tissaia moves her hands to her hips to pull her even closer, Yennefer shudders with need. Her fingers move from her face to the fastenings on Tissaia’s bodice, undoing it enough so she can press her mouth against the delicate flesh above her corset sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Tissaia gasps and sinks a hand into the thick damp hair on Yennefer’s head tugging at it. Her other hand grabs Yennefer’s wrist and pulls it down to between her thighs, pressing it there through the folds of her skirts and petticoats. Yennefer asks, her voice low and breathy,

“May l lift your skirts?”

Tissaia does not respond, only plucks at the fabric to haul it up, cursing the layers of satin and silk. At last her skirts are up round her hips, bunching and cascading down the sides, rustling in time with Yennefer’s movements as she slides her hand down between their bodies and nudges her knees in between Tissaia’s to widen her stance. Yennefer's eyebrows raise and her breath hitches when her fingers find the open crotch-seam of Tissaia’s drawers. She smiles wickedly,

“Did you dress this morning hoping for such an encounter? Or are you always so… open and inviting?”

Tissaia flushes a little. This particular style of underwear is considered old-fashioned now that ladies have fewer skirts and petticoats to raise when in the lavatory. But it had crossed her mind the open seam facilitates access just as well as egress. She is easing enough in Yennefer’s presence to regain some of her usual bite and wit, so she replies,

“Not everyone has my finger-work, I thought it polite to simplify things for you.”

Yennefer smirks and she presses her other hand lightly round Tissaia’s throat again, “Oh I think you’ll find my fingers are rather accomplished – even if I don’t spend my days fondling springs and gears.”

And, to prove her point, she slips in under the warm flannel and starts to stroke through Tissaia’s folds. Tissaia’s head falls back against the door and she moans, half in pleasure and half in surprise, how can a single fingertip be drawing so many sensations from her? And oh, she has desired those fingers from afar. Long and slim, the nails short and neatly rounded, the honeyed warmth of their colour that makes Tissaia’s mouth water. And although Yennefer’s ministrations are gentle, Tissaia whimpers at the rigidness, the hardness of the bones and tendons compared with her velvety wetness. It is a sweet invasion, a gentle conquest, a tender exploration of her inner parts and Tissaia surrenders to it, welcomes the intrusion as Yennefer’s fingers lay claim to her. Tissaia summons the wherewithal to reach for Yennefer’s waistband, anxious to give rather than simply take. But Yennefer stops her, pinning her wrists above her head against the door,

“No, my sweet, my pleasure is watching you in yours.”

She punctuates her statement with a firm thrust, beckoning upwards, crooking her fingers against a spot that makes Tissaia cry out and her eyes roll back in her head.

“Does that please you?”

Tissaia nods frantically and Yennefer smiles smugly, “For one usually such a hard taskmaster, you are surprisingly easy to satisfy.”

Tissaia wants to deliver a sharp retort but she feels herself clenching at Yennefer’s words, a muffled moan coming from where she has buried her face in her upper arm to try and recompose herself. Yennefer slows her hand and asks, unable to hide the strain from her voice,

“Words raise desire in you? You enjoy it when I say such things?”

She starts to thrust in tandem with her questions, “When I tell you how soft and wet you feel? How I ache to taste you?”

The keening sound in her throat and the buck of her hips relay Tissaia’s answer for her. Yennefer thrusts harder, knocking Tissaia against the door with little thuds, her thumb caressing up and down over the pearl nestled in the apex of Tissaia’s folds.

“Such a sight you make, coming undone on my fingers, such a beautiful mess you’re in. Does it make you quake to think how many more times you could bear this tonight? If I kept you here and touched you all night, would you beg me to stop?”

Tissaia might feel humiliated or belittled at such talk were it not for the tremble in Yennefer’s voice and the panting of the younger woman. It is comforting that, however much Tissaia has been reduced to a quivering wreck, Yennefer is not immune. So, she turns her face to meet Yennefer’s gaze, looking up through heavy-lidded eyes and husks,

“I would have you pleasure me until you no longer had the strength for aught but lying flat on your back as I had my way with you.”

Yennefer groans and bites down on Tissaia’s neck to silence her, working her hand furiously between her legs. Tissaia feels herself tightening like one of her loaded springs, gears winding her up and up until she snaps and dissolves into Yennefer’s hands, clenching down on her and muffling a scream in her shoulder. As her senses slowly return, she is dimly aware of the current artiste’s voice drifting down through the floorboards into the dressing rooms.

_“I always hold in having it if you fancy it, a little of what you fancy does you good!”_

And who is Tissaia to ignore such splendid advice? She grips Yennefer by her braces and tilts her head to the side slyly,

“My turn. You’re going to wish you’d been less cocky, my dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive the attempts at Victorian dirty talk, how does one even? *shrug*


End file.
